


It sits in the middle and knows

by Atanih88



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/F, Season/Series 02, Wincest - Freeform, girl!Dean, girl!Sam, girl!Sam/girl!Dean - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-02
Updated: 2011-10-02
Packaged: 2017-10-24 06:21:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/260104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Atanih88/pseuds/Atanih88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt - girl!Sam/girl!Dean. I've been missing season's one and two so so much and fic set in those seasons would be amazing. I've always wanted fic about girl!Dean and girl!Sam dealing with the aftermath of John's death and Dean dealing with the ~secret John told her about Sam.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It sits in the middle and knows

**Author's Note:**

> Written for goingtoqueens who made a request at The Fandom Free for All. Take a look yourself and drop in some requests, link is at the bottom of the fic. I made a few requests myself if you're in a giving mood. It's my first time writing girl!Sam and girl!Dean or any type of femslash so... yes. This was a stupid idea, wasn't it? Forgive me. I gave it a once over so, if you see any mistakes feel free to point them out. Title based on quote by Robert Frost. Also, I couldn't bring myself to change Dean and Sam's names ;_; I'm sorry I fail at this.

"Hey bitch, don't say I never did anything for y—" Dean cuts off, standing in the doorway with the cold at her back. She lowers the bag of takeaway in her hand and steps into the room.

Sam's asleep at the table, her face pressing into the keys of the laptop and the on-screen text printing itself over her cheek. Under the camouflage Dean still manages to pick out the three beauty spots on her face.

A wave of cold slips in through the open door way and Dean finally gets back on track, boots quiet on the floor, closing the door quietly behind her while keeping her eyes on Sam.

The TV's off and the light coming into the room is just the dirty yellow of the streetlights outside the motel. It comes in through lace curtains that stink of smoke.

Dean walks over to the bed, dropping the bag of food on the bedside table before shrugging off her jacket. Her movements change when Sam isn't watching. Her shoulders lose their strength a little and her fingers linger on the worn leather, thumb rubbing over the edge of a sleeve before she drops the jacket on the bed too and straightens up to look over at her sister again.

Dean rubs a hand over her hair, cropped edges soft against her hand and she remembers how firm and in control Sam's hand had been on her neck the day she'd made Dean sit down for her so she could take a pair of scissors to it. That'd been months ago. When things hadn't been okay but. Well. They hadn't been all fucked to hell like they were now.

The bed protests, old, rusty springs squeaking as Dean sits down at the end of it, heels of her boots scraping across the floor as she stretches them out, resting her weight back on her hands and taking a second.

She'd never admit it but it was getting to her. Too many things at once being thrown onto her shoulders. Dad dead. And Sammy—Sammy.

Sam sucks in a sharp breath and Dean's eyes flick back up to her. She's surprised there isn't any key mashing going on right there with the way Sam's cheek is pressing down on the thing but either way, Dean's gonna have to do something about this. Sam's always been a giant compared to most women. Dean could still pick her up and tuck her into bed though. Had always been able to and she didn't see that changing anytime soon.

Her dark hair is all over the place, little flicks of it covering that long stretch of neck. From where she sits, Dean can see a slice of smooth skinned waist and flat belly where Sam's shirt has hiked up, caught under her breasts where they're pressed full and yielding against the table in the black T she's wearing. She'd shed her over shirt before and it's neatly folded next to the laptop.

Dean sighs, rubs her hands over her eyes and stands. The floorboards creak under her as she walks over to where Sam is slumped over. Dean makes a mental note to smack her over the head later for the way she keeps doing that. Wonders how many times she'll have to tell Sam to keep her back straight and sleep on flat surfaces if she doesn't want to go around like the Hunchback of Notre Dame. Not that Dean doesn't appreciate how fun it is, when they're sitting at a diner or a bar, to slip her fingers under Sam's clothes and skitter them up her spine just to watch Sam jerk and snap straight, eyes narrowing into a glare that Dean could never help smirking at. It's cute.

"Come on Sammy," she says as she drags the chair back and Sam goes with it, sliding off the table, limp and sleep-lazy.

Sam's eyes blink open and her face scrunches up as she looks up at Dean. Then she frowns. "Don't call me that." Her words are practically slurred and her voice sounds like it's been drowned in whiskey from sleep. But she turns into Dean, arms going around Dean's waist and rubbing her cheek against Dean's stomach, sliding up a bit with a hum and pressing her face right between Dean's breasts.

Dean snorts and despite the heaviness that had filled her only seconds ago, she's amused as she curls her hands around Sam's arms and tries to tug her up. "I don't think so sunshine, come on. Let's get you to bed."

Sam groans, sound muffled against Dean but a few seconds later she's standing up and staggering against Dean before pushing away and zigzagging her way to bed. Her jeans are sliding down her hips; the belt is loose, letting the baggy jeans fall just a little below Sam's hips. The high curve of her ass comes into view and Dean's content to just watch for a second.

"D'you bring food?" Sam asks as she face plants on the bed, shimmying up the mattress and curling her arms up under the pillow, burying her face in it. Her chin is tucked down though and she's watching Dean from slitted eyes.

Dean rolls her eyes at that, cocks thumb and forefinger in the direction of the bag she'd dumped on the side table only a few minutes ago. "Yeah, Princess, got your food."

Sam's nose wrinkles up and her eyes open a little more. "Salad?"

"All the grass you can chew on sweetheart," Dean says, voice a mock sultry. She shrugs her own shirt off as she makes her way to the free bed. The chill licks up her arms quickly, leaving goose pimples in its wake and Dean pauses to examine the nasty path of bruises covering her left arm from wrist to elbow where a spirit had attempted to twist her arm off. Hadn't been the most pleasant experience but it wasn't looking too bad considering.

Sam's mouth cracks open on a huge yawn and when she settles back down her eyes are closed again.

"You were gone a while."

Dean pauses in pulling off a boot. "Just took my time, that's all." She says, and pulls it the rest of the way off, let's it thump to the ground and goes for the other one.

"Dean."

Dean sighs, wishes she'd just left Sam on the damn table to wake up with her neck all bent out of shape if she'd known they'd be getting into the 'feelings' ball park. "Sam, just get some shut-eye okay?"

Sam doesn't say anything for a second. Dean's tugging her jeans down her hips—wincing at the state of her legs that haven't seen a razor in a while but hey, a girl has priorities and right now, shaving her legs isn't one of 'em—when Sam speaks again.

"When are we gonna talk about it?" Her voice is coaxing, the way it is when Sam's standing in front of a family that's just lost someone one, a gentle smile, dimples on her cheeks and the world's best puppy eyes getting guys and girls alike to relax, step aside, let her in.

But Dean really isn't in the mood for this and she tips her head to the side, ugly smile slashing across her mouth. She keeps her eyes on what she's doing as her jeans pool on the floor and she steps out of them. And fuck if she doesn't need a beer now. She tosses the jeans back into her bag and pads on bare feet across the room. Except that when she passes Sam's bed Sam sits up, moves fast and curls her hand around Dean's wrist, pulls her to a stop.

She's standing now, head dipping to peer into Dean's face. She lifts a hand, warm and bigger than Dean's but curving almost with reverence to the line of Dean's neck.

"Dean, maybe if you told me—"

Dean tugs her face away, licks at her lips, feeling the agitation gathering in her chest, squeezing out the space that's meant for her lungs. "There's nothing to tell."

Sam watches her for a few more quiet seconds and then she shakes her head. "Yes there is. And you'll tell me."

Dean grinds her teeth, about two seconds from lashing out and telling her to fuck off, but then Sammy's cupping Dean's face in her hands, pulling her close. The kiss is chaste compared to the ones they've had before. But it quiets Dean like nothing else. The cling of Sam's mouth over Dean's lower lip—the little hint of wet heat against her tongue—it has Dean pressing in closer, instinctively molding herself to Sam and anchoring a hand on the flare of her hip, fingers digging in a bit.

When Sam pulls away Dean's breath shudders back out of her, fanning Sam's mouth and she doesn't miss the way Sam trembles almost imperceptibly, against her. Dean's mouth quirks up a little at that.

"Sammy."

Sam sighs, presses a kiss to Dean's forehead this time and wraps an arm around her waist keeping them close together. Dean doesn't say anything—can't say anything. It's never been in her nature to willingly show a weakness but after a few seconds she lets herself follow Sam back to bed. Lets Sam pull the covers over them both as Sam's thigh slips between hers, firm and warm and cushioned right up to Dean's crotch. It creates a spark of interest in Dean's stomach and she presses more fully against it, a small rub as they settle together but it's not something either of them are interested in carrying through just now.

Dean slips her arm beneath Sam's head, liking the tickle of Sam's hair as it fans over her arm. Sam's eyes are bright even in the dark and her smooth mouth tipping up in a smile. She turns her head a little and brushes them against the skin on the inside of Dean's arm before stilling and closing her eyes.

She falls back into sleep like that, with Dean watching her, looking as she always does, at ease with Dean close by. It's almost enough for Dean to be okay, knowing that she can give Sammy this. It makes Dean hurt more too and she blinks her eyes up the ceiling, tries to get rid of the wet burn she feels there.

Dad was wrong. Dad was wrong about Sammy.

Except John Winchester was never wrong about anything.

Dean rubs her face into the pillow and allows herself to tuck in closer to Sam until she's pressed against all of Sam's softness.

She doesn't fall asleep for a while.

When she finally does, she dreams of waking up and finding yellow eyes looking out at her from Sammy's face.


End file.
